


The Spool

by RealtaCuardach



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealtaCuardach/pseuds/RealtaCuardach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is feeling burned out, unable to find the spark of his old days between trying to be the dutiful son at his father's company and spending time with his wife. But then, at the bar, he meets a woman who gives him a spool that, when pulled, gives him drive and adrenaline rush he hasn't felt in years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Drinking deeply from his mug, Arthur Pendragon felt tired, old, and washed out. It wouldn't have made sense to an outsider, who could see his relatively young age, recognize his name from the paper as the CEO of his father's multibillion dollar company, and admire the handsomeness of his profile.

They didn't know of the hours and hours he spent trying to please his father, the stresses and frustrations from the job. They didn't know how his work was keeping him away from his beautiful wife and from spending time with his friends. He felt ill and tired, and wanted the spinning of the world to stop long enough to catch his breath.

He wasn't naïve enough to imagine that chance would come, no matter how his wife or best friend tried to prove the contrary. Arthur smiled wryly as he recalled how Merlin, attempting to use all the weight that being a doctor would give him, tried to convince him to seek help.

"Would you recommend crying to the bartender?" Arthur countered wryly, nodding to the man across the bar, "Because I'm not sure he's qualified to give advice."

"No," Merlin smirked, "But he is qualified to royally spike your drinks if you anger him, so I wouldn't push it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's that famous wit of yours. Rich coming from a lightweight such as you."

Merlin's pager beeped, and he looked down, cursing. "Oh no," he gasped, "one of my patients needs emergency surgery. I have to go." He tossed the money for his drink on the counter. "Seriously, Arthur," he said, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder, "consider it. Please."

"Fine," Arthur waved him off. "Go on and be the hero. I'll see you later."

Arthur smirked at the thought. He had considered it for all of ten seconds. He didn't need a shrink, he needed a miracle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the shadowy figure of an attractive woman approach. "Excuse me…"

Arthur pulled his mug closer. "I'm not interested." If he'd cared, the lack of chivalry in his tone would have chaffed. But frankly, he didn't care anymore.

Much to his surprise, the woman didn't look insulted or confused; instead she looked faintly amused. "Well, that's obvious," she said calmly, signaling for a drink, "you don't seem to be interested in much of anything."

"What?"

"It's not that hard," the woman nodded to the bartender as he slid her drink towards her, "you're getting on in years, running to seed a bit." She took a long sip and sighed in appreciation, her long brown hair falling in tendrils over her shoulders. "It's the way of things."

Arthur felt as though steam was about to blow from his ears. "What? I'm not getting on in years, or running to seed!"

A low chuckle echoed in the back of her throat. "You could have fooled me." She held up an elegant, red-tipped hand. "Calm yourself, sir, I was merely making an observation. But now," she looked towards him, her eyes glinting strangely in the dim bar light, "I'm about to make an offer."

Almost against his better judgment, Arthur leaned forward. "What kind of an offer?"

"It seems to me," she continued smoothly, pausing to take another sip of her drink, "that all you are missing – is energy. You seem so bored and dull with life, when there are such...possibilities…to take advantage of. What I propose," she leaned forward, her hand sliding into her purse, "is a way to give you more energy."

Arthur just restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "If this is some sort of energy supplement –"

The woman laughed. "No, no, it's not." She pulled her hand, curled it into a fist around something from the bag, and dropped it on the counter.

It was a spool of thread.

"You can't be serious."

"I can and I am," the woman smiled, leaning back, "this spool is the answer to your problems. Just give it a pull and see."

Breathing deeply through his nose, Arthur looked suspiciously from the woman to the spool. She arched one brow with quiet amusement and shrugged her shoulders. "It's your choice."

The thread felt thicker than he'd expected as Arthur wrapped his fingers around the spool and tested the weight in his hand. Glancing once more around to make sure there wasn't some sort of camera about, he took a fortifying breath and pulled.

Suddenly, the blood in his veins seemed to pulse with energy and he sat back with a jerk. Breath rushed cool and sweet and rejuvenating into his lungs, and the world tinged itself in a rosy glow. He felt young, he felt enthused, he felt invincible.

The redness became a golden haze, intensifying into the world glowed so bright he could no longer see anything. He soaked in the brightness, reveling the feel of absolute, untethered freedom.

When the light faded and he once again could see, Arthur panted from the aftershock and turned with wonder to the woman. She smiled at him.

"Bright at the end, isn't it?"

"That is unbelievable!" Arthur stared in wonder at the spool that made him feel alert and rested and jubilant, in ways he hadn't felt in years.

"What do you want for it?"

He had already began to open his briefcase when she held up a hand. "Nothing at all. It is something of an experiment of mine. All I ask is that you tell me what you think of it should we ever meet."

The businessman in Arthur felt a little suspicious at the offer of anything free, but the memory of the rush of energy swept any misgivings away. "Of course."

A shrill beeping drew Arthur's attention to his watch and he stood up. "It's getting late, my wife will be wondering where I am. Thank you, Miss…?"

The woman put her drink down and raised one hand in farewell. "Oh, just call me Nim."

xxx

The door snagged a little on the same piece of the doormat as Arthur stepped into his flat. He slipped off his shoes and placed his briefcase on the hall table, feeling the spool bounce against his leg in his coat pocket.

"Arthur?" His wife called from the living room, "Is that you?"

"Yes," he replied, shrugging off his coat, "you expecting anyone else?"

Gwen walked into the hallway from the living room and helped him hang his coat on the rack. "No," she laughed, "it's just nice to see you home before dinner's finished cooking."

The bitter twinge of an old argument pressed on his mind, but Arthur ignored it to kiss his wife. "I know, I'm sorry."

"And I know it's beyond your control," Gwen smiled tiredly, "let's not talk about that tonight. It's just nice to have you here. And even nicer that I don't have stacks of papers to grade tonight!"

Arthur laughed lightly as he followed Gwen into the kitchen, feeling the adrenaline he'd felt fade away into a sort of contentment. That's some sort of a miracle thread, he marveled quietly to himself, reflexively flexing his shoulder to relieve the ache that was no longer there. "Little monsters all right today then?"

"Arthur!" Gwen admonished, although her eyes were dancing, "They are fifth years, they are not monsters."

"What was that you said around midterms last term then?" Arthur replied, smirking, "Something about how the lunatics were beginning to run the asylum?"

Gwen put her hand to her face, fingers splaying over the blush on her cheeks. "It was a moment of weakness."

"Hey," Arthur said gently, stepping behind his wife to wrap his arms around her, placing his chin on her head. He smiled at the blissful sigh she made as she leaned against his chest. "It's hardly weakness if it's the truth."

She picked up the oven mitt and slapped him on the shoulder with it.

"Arthur!"

xxx

When Arthur awoke the next morning, the thought of the thread seemed almost like part of a dream. The old tightness returned to his shoulders, with the permanence he had come to accept, and he shuffled wearily into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

In the time it had taken him to shower, Gwen had roused herself and was sitting at the kitchen table, hair in a messy bun and eyes drooping. She kissed him warmly as he bent down towards her, holding up a thermos of coffee as they parted. "Have a good day at work."

"As good as I ever will."

xxx

"Certainly, Mr. Pendragon."

Arthur nodded in an authoritative way as his secretary slipped out to her desk, and then slumped into the back of his chair as the door closed behind her. It had been a hell of a day. The relief of the day before seemed even more of a dream as the morning had progressed. To make things worse, his father had decided that they needed to finish their current project two weeks ahead of schedule, and had chosen to impart this unwelcome news through his secretary.

He rubbed at the tension between his eyes and groaned, shifting in a hopeless attempt to get more comfortable.

An odd lump pressed into the small of his back. Curious, he reached behind him, digging through the folds of the coat he'd been too preoccupied to hang up. His hand closed around something and he dropped it on the desk.

It was the spool.

Fascinated, Arthur stretched out his hand, toying with the end of the golden thread. He could almost feel the pulse of energy again, without even having to pull the thread…

He pulled his hand back. He'd probably imagined the adrenaline rush of the night before. Even if not, the idea of relying on something, anything other than himself was abhorrent to everything his father had taught him. Self-reliance was everything. Still…

His fingers played with the thread. Still, it was his father who had laid all this work on him at the last minute. The string might do nothing, but what would it hurt to try.

Before he allowed any more doubt, Arthur grabbed the string and pulled.

Even the knowledge of what was coming did not dampen the rush as it enflamed his entire body. He sat upright and his mind felt sharp and alert as he looked over the work on his desk. No longer wearying, his brain bubbled over with creative ideas and insights on how to tackle the simple problem ahead of him. Arthur's very blood seemed to pulse with energy as he bent to his work, enthralled with the ideas that were rushing to the surface as his fingers flew over the keys.

Not even the blinding flash of light deterred his fervor as he worked on.

xxx

Uther sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well done, Arthur," he said, "this work really is some of your best. I'm impressed."

Arthur nodded, struggling to suppress the grin threatening to spread across his face. "Thank you, Father."

"I really had expected," Uther said, in a voice just approaching wonder, "that that would take up until the last minute to get this finished. But you have pleasantly surprised me." He stood up from his seat and walked over to Arthur, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? There's nothing that won't keep until tomorrow or even the day after – this was the most pressing assignment we would have for the next two weeks. Get some rest."

Arthur nodded, modestly. "Thank you, Father. I think I will."

Once he'd walked down the hallway from his father's office, far away enough from the curious eyes of his employees, he jumped up in the air, clicking his heels.

xxx

Arthur kicked the door to his flat open, a broad grin on his face as he heard the whack of the door against the wall. "Gwen," he crowed, "I'm home!"

Gwen hurried out from her study, still wearing her ID pin from school, smudges of red ink on her fingers. "So you are," she replied, her tone surprised but pleased, "what is all that?"

Dropping his briefcase onto the hallway table, Arthur shifted the bouquet of roses to one hand and pulled the box of chocolates into the other. He presented the roses to Gwen with a flourish. "For you."

"Oh, Arthur," Gwen brought the roses to her face, her eyes closing as she took in their fragrance, "they're lovely." She pushed up on the balls of her feet to kiss him. "Let me put these in a vase."

Arthur followed her as she carried her flowers into the kitchen, appreciating the view as she knelt down below the sink to grab a vase.

"It's nice to have you home this early," Gwen said as she turned on the tap to fill the vase, "what's the occasion?"

"Nothing much," Arthur replied as he slid the box of candy onto the table, "I'm just finished with the Taki-san Project."

Gwen turned to him in surprise, the roses slipping through her fingers into the vase. "What?" she exclaimed, "But that wasn't supposed to be completed until next month."

Even the memory of his anger at his father's decision could not darken Arthur's euphoria. "Father felt we needed to make it up two weeks," he explained, "but I managed to find the solution and complete it today."

"Wow! That must have been some coffee I gave you this morning," Gwen joked, placing the roses on the table before sitting beside him.

Arthur shook his head, his broadening grin nearly splitting him face. "It wasn't the coffee, Gwen."

"Oh!" Gwen gently slapped her forehead. "I know that. It's all you – it's just that you've been so tired lately, so I'm surprised you were able – oh!" She shook her head. "Sorry, you know what I mean."

Arthur reached over and kissed her on the forehead. "It's okay, Gwen." He chuckled, "You're right – it wasn't just me today. Your coffee may have helped a bit, but there was something else."

Furrowing her brows, Gwen looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"You really want to know?" Arthur stood up and stuck his hand into his pocket, looking down at Gwen expectantly.

She stood up, looking quizzical. "Sure!"

He laughed again. "You're going to think I'm crazy." He pulled out his hand from his pocket, the spool sitting modestly on his palm.

"It's…thread?" Gwen reached out to fetch the spool. "I don't understand – what can thread do?"

Arthur grinned devilishly, a very attractive prospect entering his mind.

"You want to see?" Without waiting for her response, he took the spool back, putting the golden thread hard. He tossed the spool to the table and, just before the bright flash of energy took over his vision, grabbed Gwen's face with both hands and brought it to his, kissing her hungrily.

Every fiber seemed more attuned to the sensation of her hair sliding through his hands and the feel of her lips kissing eagerly back. As they parted, chests heaving for air, Gwen looked up into his face with sparkling eyes. "Arthur…"

Smirking roguishly, Arthur swept her up into a bridal hold, making her squeal and wrap her arms around his neck. "Gwen," he laughed as he began walking towards their bedroom, "you haven't seen anything yet."

xxx

As Gwen fell asleep, her head pillowed on Arthur's chest, her husband brushed the damp, beautiful curls away from her flushed face. He relished in the afterglow, his body tingling from the infusion of energy he'd felt after pulling the thread. Even as he bent down to rest his chin on the crown of Gwen's head, his fingers burned at the memory of the thread.

His hand twitched.

xxx

Arthur had decided, the morning after using the spool, that it would be best to use it sparingly. Everything he'd thought and felt seemed like a miracle – but even miracles had to run out. So, he decided to only use it when the situation called for it.

Despite his resolution, Arthur only hesitated for a few moments before stuffing the spool into the pocket of the coat.

The day at work wasn't terribly stressful, although an idiotic manager early in the afternoon made Arthur's hand convulsively twitch towards the spool, now stored in the bottom drawer of his desk. He sagged back in his chair, drained as the manager finally left, and opened the drawer. His hand grazed the top of the spool as he debated using the spool so early on – but decided if he only pulled a little bit, it wouldn't be too great a loss. So he pulled, and the rest of the day breezed by.

There were some days where he never touched the spool, although the itch for it was constantly in the back of his mind. And he never used it first thing in the morning, preferring to fall back on caffeine to give him the needed jolt to get the day started. But then, one morning, things began to change.

He stared at the pot, dismayed that they'd forgotten to program the pot the night before, leaving him with no coffee to drink. He was already running late, since the smell had not helped to rouse him, and there was no time to get more before the morning's big meeting with one of their foreign alliances.

And there was the spool in his pocket bouncing against his leg.

Arthur deliberated for only a second before pulling – and with that he was immediately out the door.

So, the days began with a quick pull in the morning, followed by a tug after lunch to fight the regular dullness that came with digestion. Some afternoons would linger on too long, and so he'd take a teatime tug to get him through the rest of the day. Other evenings, the subway would wear him out, and so he'd take another pull to keep standing up.

Keeping energetic and alert in long board meetings. Loving his wife the way she deserved to be loved. Relishing the way ideas just seemed to flow again. Embracing the feeling that he could physically do anything.

Pull after pull after pull.

It got to where he had to cut the loose thread away; the cloud of tangled golden thread completely obstructed his access to the miracle spool.

He told no one, not besides Gwen. She only saw it as a self-esteem boost, not as the miracle it was. She didn't understand.

xxx

"Hey Arthur," Merlin said, sliding onto his usual stool at the Rising Sun, "it's been ages – again."

Arthur laughed, rolling his eyes, and Merlin stared. "What?"

Merlin shook his head in slight wonder. "Mate, you know how long's it been since I heard you laugh like you weren't about to start snoring. You're looking much better!"

"I'm feeling better," Arthur nodded.

"Did you try any of those doctors I recommended?"

Arthur raised his gaze to the ceiling. "I'm a grown man, I can do some things on my own, you know?"

Merlin crossed his arms, looking stern – or as much as he could with his rumpled doctor's coat and tousled hair. "What exactly did you do then?"

"You wouldn't believe diet and exercise?"

"No," Merlin frowned, "there's something else. What?"

Arthur shook his head. "You're going to think I'm crazy," he said as he rifled through his coat, "but it's this."

He banged the spool on the counter before leaning back and folding his arms, preparing for the skepticism he was sure to follow. However, as Merlin leaned forward to examine the spool more closely, Arthur remembered that Merlin was the last to be skeptical out of their friends – in university especially, he'd been fascinated in the possibility of the supernatural.

Merlin's eyes nearly crossed as he stared intently at the spool, his nose nearly grazing the top. He stretched out his right hand, flexing the fingers slightly as he swept it through the air around the spool. Finally, brows furrowed, he brushed the top with his index finger.

He retched so hard he nearly fell backwards off the stool, and Arthur nearly upended his drink trying to catch him. Merlin waved him away, taking in deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, and the greenness about his face began to fade away.

"The bloody hell is that?!" Merlin stammered out, wiping the corner of his mouth.

"It's a spool, idiot," Arthur replied, his concern belying the insult, "I'm more wondering what the bloody hell just happened to you."

"You mean," Merlin panted, "you don't _feel_ that? Where did you get that thing?"

"Some woman I met in a bar," Arthur responded.

Merlin covered the spool with a dirty napkin, pushing it away with a spoon. "Arthur, you've got to get rid of this thing. There's something wrong about it."

"You sure you didn't just have something off at lunch, Merlin?" Arthur drawled, the aftershock of seeing his friend's reaction fading away, "I don't think you should blame thread for your indigestion."

"It's not a joke." Merlin was unfazed. "At least talk to this woman if you won't get rid of it."

He picked up the covered spool, and suddenly Arthur was the one retching and sagging forward. Merlin dropped the spool in horror and leaned over to help, only for Arthur to instantly recover. The two of them stared at the spool with dazed confusion.

"Okay," Arthur replied, "I will."

xxx

"I need," Arthur said as he sat down besides Nim, blocking her from the doorway, "to talk with you."

"Arthur," Nim nodded, smiling as she raised a glass in greeting, "I wondered when we'd been meeting again."

Arthur wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. He'd spent hours trying to find the bar where Nim was, hampered slightly by the time it took to dissuade Merlin from following him. Merlin had early surgery the following morning, and he didn't need a bloody chaperone. He slammed the spool onto the bar. "What is this thing?"

"Ah, yes," Nim took a sip of her drink, "I should have known you wouldn't be content to just use what you'd been given without being just the least bit curious. Although you won't be too surprised when I tell you. It's almost obvious, really."

"Get to the point."

Nim's lips set themselves. "Fine. Think back to your classics classes, Arthur. Think of the Greeks and the Romans." Arthur's eyes narrowed, so she continued on. "Thread…Greeks…fates…"

"The thread of life," Arthur said reminsciently, "each person has a thread of life that would be cut at the time of their death." He froze.

"You don't mean to say that this is-"

"Yes, Arthur," Nim looked pleased, "you are literally holding someone's life in your hands."

"The hell!" Arthur almost dropped the thread in disgust. "That can't be possible! I can't have been –" He shook his head. "That can't be right – such a thing, it doesn't exist!"

"Yet," Nim countered. "I told you it was an experiment, didn't I? A successful one, given how much you've been enjoying it."

"This is murder!"

"Is it really?" Nim replied, "Life is so fleeting anyway, and I can assure you the person in question has no idea."

Arthur shuddered. "Who is it?"

Nim shrugged an elegant shoulder, examining the redness of her nails. "I couldn't say."

His fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles glowed white. "This isn't some joke!"

"I never said it was," she replied coolly, looking irritated for the first time. "There are several billion people on the planet, Arthur. You can't expect me to remember one name from all those people."

Arthur began to shake with anger and Nim sighed. "Look, if it makes you feel so uncomfortable, you can stop using it. You don't pull, the thread doesn't run out." She wrapped her fingers around her glass. "It's a simple solution really."

Gritting his teeth, Arthur reached out for the spool. It felt so delicate and heavy in his hand. He shuddered again. Glancing suspiciously at Nim, he slid the spool securely into his pocket. "I will never use this again."

"As you wish," she nodded. "It's your choice."

Arthur stomped out of the bar, not seeing the sly smile wind about her beautiful face.

xxx

_Part 2 Coming Soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for the incredibly late posting of this second chapter. All I can say is, I thought I had already posted it! Read on, and I hope you enjoy!

“Arthur!” Gwen gasped, rushing forward and putting her hands on his face. “What happened? You look terrible!”

Arthur let out his breath shakily. “Just got a bit of a shock. I’m all right now, though.” He sighed. “I think I’m not going to be messing with that thread anymore, though.”

Gwen stepped back and looked at his face appraisingly before nodding. “That might be for the best. You’ve been relying on it for quite a bit now.”

An irrational anger began filling him, and he clenched his fist to fight it back. He blinked in surprise at the sensation, shaking his head. “You’re right.”

“Come on,” Gwen said sympathetically, taking one of his arms and gently pulling him towards their bedroom, “you need some rest. Dinner will keep.”

“You’re right,” Arthur replied, dropping the spool of thread on the dresser, ignoring the impulse to hold it close to him. “I think some sleep is exactly what I need.”

Only an hour after he slipped into an easy doze Arthur jerked awake, the pounding in his chest impossible to ignore. His heart seemed calm in his chest, but the thudding echoed throughout his entire body. His lungs felt heavy, and his fingers began to burn and itch.

The spool was calling to him.

It was pounding in his chest from the dresser, begging him for the chance to make his lungs light and to relieve the burning itch of his fingers.

Arthur rolled over, covering his head with the pillow.

The thudding sounded loudly and resolutely in his ears, making his eyes and head sore. The itch in his fingers became irritated by their friction against the pillow. He was running out of air and could not breathe.

Arthur tightened every muscle in his body, valiantly struggling to ignore the spool’s call.

He got no more sleep that night, each heartbeat echoed by the spool’s pounding.

xxx

Coffee seemed insufficient the following week. His fingers, forced to be content merely with cupping around a hot thermos, itched petulantly for the feel of the thread. Work dragged by sluggishly slowly, and he had to restrain himself from snapping at random strangers in the subway.

His entire body felt sore and old again, and he ached for the relief of the string, but he resisted. He’d hoped that the struggle would become easier as time passed. It had not.

His bones creaked and popped more often as he moved. He was unable to run up stairs without gasping for gulps of air, forcing him to watch his younger employees dash by and give sympathetic looks. He would come home exhausted, slumping into the kitchen chair or recliner when he came home. And the one time he’d tried to sweep Gwen up into his arms, he’d wrenched his back and had to lie down the rest of the night. Even Gwen’s loving care and attention weren’t enough to get rid of the embarrassment or the itching for the thread that was so close by.

Some nights, when the pounding became too much, he would slip out of bed and walk to the dresser. He would pull out the drawer and take the thread out, brushing his fingers across it. The itch would reduce a little, but nowhere near enough, and he was forced to hold back the revulsion as the thread seemed to slide like blood through his fingers.

Arthur was fighting the temptation, but with every aching day and sleepless night, his resolution began to weaken.

xxx

“It’ll be good to see everyone, won’t it?” Gwen said cheerfully as she pulled the picnic basket out of the boot. Arthur gave an answering grunt, as he popped the soreness from his neck and shoulders. “I’m glad that Merlin managed to get us all together – it’s been ages since I’ve seen the old circle.” She laughed, gently shoving his shoulder with her own. “Besides, seeing you lot all play footie again will be like old times.”

Arthur groaned internally. He really wished Gwen wouldn’t use the word “old.” He felt ancient as he heard his bones pop in time with his movements.

“Artie!” Gwaine came barreling over, slapping Arthur on the back before sweeping Gwen into a bear hug. “It’s been forever, mate. Where have you been?”

“Working,” Arthur said dryly.

“Hmph,” he snorted teasingly, “is work more important than your friends?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head, laughing as Gwaine got the wind taken out of him by a well-placed elbow from his girlfriend. “Leave him alone, tough guy,” Elena laughed, “or he’ll leave and it will be all your fault.”

Elena walked over to Gwen and hugged her before easing the picnic basket out of her hands. “Come on, everyone else is waiting!”

Gwaine watched his girlfriend sweep away with a mix of surprise and awe. “That girl…” he shook his head, turning to Arthur. “Come on!”

They followed the girls to the football pitch, where the rest of their friends had set up camp on one of the bleachers. As they saw Arthur and Gwaine approach they began to wave frantically and yell. 

“Finally!” Merlin said, grinning as he jumped off of the bleachers, “We wondered when you and Gwen were going to show up.

Leon, Elyan, and Percival came over, slapping Arthur on the back. Lance stopped first to help Gwen put down the basket and ask her how she was. Arthur winced a little internally at the sight, remembering how he’d not known about Lance’s love for his wife until the day after they’d been engaged. With most other men, he would have been on guard and jealous, but Lance was one of the most noble people he knew.

That didn’t stop the pangs of unease and guilt when he could see the visible love in Lance’s eyes when he looked at Gwen. 

“So,” Leon began, breaking Arthur from his thoughts, “how has everything been?”

Arthur popped a kink in his neck. “Been having its ups and downs, you know how it is. Work has been sucking up more and more of my time.”

Leon nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean – Mithian’s been getting frustrated with my late hours, and I can’t blame her.” He looked over at his fiancée, who was tying up her trainers while talking to Gwen and Elena. “But that’s life.”

“It’s a shame, though,” Elyan countered, “that it keeps us all apart so much. I miss hanging out with you guys during uni.” He grinned, “Back when we were the knights.”

Percival let out a deep rumbling chuckle. “We got some weird looks when we put down that name for our team, but what else could we do with King Arthur as our team captain.”

Arthur slapped his forehead, grimacing at the impact as the others laughed. “Hilarious,” he said dryly, although he was grinning.

“You always did seem more like a princess to me,” Gwaine countered, his rakish smile in fine form. He’d already pulled off his shirt in preparation for the game, showing off his finely toned muscles. “Let’s see if you lot can still play, or if all that work has made you old and boring!”

Elyan shoved him good-naturedly. “Sod off, just because your job just has you take off your shirt and pose all day –“

Gwaine stuck his chin in the air, striking one of his more internationally known poses. His modeling career had sky-rocketed since they’d all graduated from university. “And keeps me in peak physical condition,” he bragged. “You all are going down!”

“Even your teammates?” Merlin asked, his brow arching in a fashion eerily similar to one of his mentors at the hospital. “Might want to rethink this one, Gwaine…”

“Enough of that,” Arthur said briskly, pulling off his jacket and throwing it to the side, “let’s start a game. We’ll see who’s going down.”

xxx

Arthur pushed up with one elbow from the ground, a glob of mud falling from his face onto the ground. His every bone and muscle ached, and he panted for breath. This was humiliating.

This was the third time he’d been knocked down since they’d begun playing. And unlike the times they played when they were younger, he stayed down rather than darting away to victory. And each time, it had been Gwaine.

He waved off the hands offering to help him to his feet, and stood up, his bones creaking. “I just need a drink – I’ll be back.”

Gwaine’s crowing echoed in his ears as he stomped over to his gym bag, and he gritted his teeth. His friend meant well, but this was too much. Arthur hated not coming first in anything, and he was being summarily stomped into the ground.

“Sorry, mate!” Gwaine called, “I don’t mean to be that rough. It’s just a game.”

Arthur’s fingers clenched about his water bottle, the plastic squeaking in protest. So, his humiliation was all a game, was it? He shook off the frustration. He knew he was taking things too seriously.

He opened the bag to slide the water bottle back in, when something inside caught the afternoon light.

Arthur stared. He didn’t remember having put the spool in the bag.

The ever-present itch in his fingers, and numbly he reached for the spool. It felt good and solid, waiting for him patiently. His hand slid down the slick strands of his thread. Only one pull…

He yanked his hand back. He could not forget what the thread back.

“Come on, Arthur! Not afraid, are you?”

Arthur’s brows furrowed with a vengeance. Without any more hesitation, he reached forward and pulled hard.

Energy, pulsing, hot energy, filled him and he ran back towards the pitch.

They began the play, and Arthur kicked the ball hard to Merlin who ran off with it. As Arthur sprinted down the pitch, he caught up with Gwaine who was laughing exuberantly with the adrenaline rush. “Not too bad, Princess!” he chuckled, “How come you didn’t do that be-“

Before Arthur knew what was happening, he was blinded by the hot gold red of rage and anger and energy, and he tackled Gwaine to the ground hard. Balling up both of his fists, he became pummeling Gwaine’s smug, pretty-boy face. Where did he get off on calling Arthur weak? Where did he get off on judging Arthur? Just some stupid man with a face that some cameras liked, but without a single bloody brain in his-

The cries of joy down the pitch became shrieks of horror, and feet thundered down the pitch towards him. “Arthur!” Someone shrieked.

Arthur felt a heavy thud knock him off of Gwaine, and looked up though his clearing vision at Percival, who looked shocked. They both turned to look at Gwaine laying on the ground, watching as Elena began mopping up his bruised, bloody face. “Gwaine? Gwaine!” She cried out, “Can you hear me?”

The adrenaline rush had receded somewhat, and Arthur began shaking violently. He pushed Percival off and stared down at Gwaine, who struggled to look up at him through his swollen eye. 

Every where he looked, he could see the faces staring at him in horror, in shock, in angry disbelief. Their gazes burned him like a brand, and he stepped back, his head weakly shaking back and forth.

And then he ran.

xxx

“Arthur,” Gwen called out, almost fearfully, as the door opened and shut behind her, “what happened back there?”

Arthur exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to stop the rushing of the world about his ears. “Nothing – just a bunch of mates getting too rough.”

Gwen stamped her foot in frustration. “No! It’s more than that. Arthur, you were beating Gwaine – you humiliated him! That’s not the Arthur I know!”

Wishing his heart would slow down, Arthur gritted his teeth and faced her. “And who is that man, exactly?”

“He certainly wouldn’t humiliate his friends! He wouldn’t nearly beat someone to death.”

Arthur shrugged, nearly choking on the hidden shame. “It got out of hand.”

“I just don’t understand –“ Gwen froze, her gaze riveted to just below his hip. “Arthur, what is that?”

He looked down to follow her gaze, which was focused on his pocket. The glint of dark gold thread peeked through the opening. Arthur shoved it in hastily.

“I thought you got rid of that,” Gwen said slowly, “what are you doing with it again?”

“That’s none of your business, Guinevere.”

Gwen stiffened, as though stung. “Arthur, it’s the thread. It’s doing something to you.” She came closer. “Come along, let’s get rid of it. Then everything will be all right!”

Arthur turned, sheltering the string. “Get away!”

“Please,” she pleaded, reaching for the pocket, “it will make you better…”

He shoved her hand out of the pocket, grabbing the string protectively – accidentally pulling it out an arm’s length as he stumbled backwards.

Light and rage and anger and frustration engulfed all his senses. He could vaguely feel his hand clamping into a fist, and letting the fist fly forward. Fist met flesh, and he suddenly felt a wet crunching followed a surprised cry.

When the light receded, he felt his entire body shaking with exertion, and his right hand felt bound and sticky. The thread had ensnared his fingers and was dripping red. He slowly turned to face his wife and found her on the ground. Her eyes were welling with tears, which seeped past her badly bruised eye and profusely bleeding nose.

His body stiffened in horror. “Gwen…”

She flinched back, trembling.

The door flew open, and Merlin and Lance rushed in. “What happened?” Lance began, “We thought we heard –“ He looked down at Gwen on the floor and his face paled. “Gwen!”

He knelt down beside her, trying to ease her into a comfortable sitting position, secured against his chest. Arthur’s free hand balled into a fist, and he took a step forward. Merlin slid in between him and the other two, his hands splayed in front of him. “Stop it!” he yelled. “What is wrong with you, Arthur? Why did you hit –“ His eyes caught on Arthur’s bloodied hand and widened. “No…”

Arthur shoved the thread protectively into his pocket and advanced on Merlin. “Nothing is wrong with me! Why do you think anything’s wrong?”

“Gwen bleeding on the floor?” Merlin retorted, as Lance shifted Gwen closer to him and wiping away the blood from her nose.

“Guinevere,” Arthur snapped, his mind boiling with rage at his wife in his once-rival’s arms, “clearly has no complaints with how she is right now. Surprised she hasn’t betrayed me before this.”

“Betrayed?” Honor and anger warred in Lance’s voice as he stopped his ministrations. “She has never betrayed you, and neither would I. I am just comforting her after her husband brutalized her!”

Arthur turned his head sharply away, his hand clenching on the bloody spool. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore.” He shoved Merlin, who had moved closer to Gwen during his tirade, as he stomped out of the flat. “You’re welcome to her!” He snapped at Lance, slamming the front door behind him.

xxx

“The bloody hell is your problem!”

Arthur turned away from the accusing voice, taking a gulp of his beer. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Merlin slammed his fist on the bar. “Neither do you, apparently! Why did you do that to Gwen?”

Arthur slammed down his mug. “That’s hardly any of your business, is it?”

“You made it my business when you started hurting my friends. Our friends, Arthur!” Merlin shook his head. “Gwen is probably still  
crying – I think you broke her nose!”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m sure Lancelot is there to keep her company, and good riddance.”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice became desperate, “can’t you see what’s happening? I know you used the spool – I saw it during the game. Stop it, please. There’s still time – you can leave this behind you. You can apologize to Gwaine, make it up to Gwen-“

“You’re hardly one,” Arthur snarled, “to be giving any advice on romance. You didn’t do such a good job of keeping your own fiancé safe!”

Merlin looked as though he’d been stabbed through the heart, and Arthur felt a twang of guilt. Mentioning Freya, whom terminal illness Merlin had not been able to cure despite his years of medical training, was a low blow, and he knew it. “Merlin…”

Merlin let out a shaky breath, his complexion turning a dark red and then deathly pale before it resumed its normal shade. “This isn’t you,” he said shakily, “it’s the thread. For everyone’s sakes, Arthur, get rid of it!”

“I’m tired,” Arthur snapped, his repentance gone, “of you always trying to tell me what to do. Merlin, always sure he knows best. Poor Arthur, never having a clue.” He stood up, waving a fist at Merlin. “Leave now, Merlin. You’re a self-righteous idiot, and I’m sorry I ever met you.”

“Arthur…”

“LEAVE! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR UGLY FACE AGAIN!”

Merlin glanced around at the shocked patrons and sighed. “Fine, Arthur,” he said, turning away, “I’ll leave.”

“Good.”

Arthur glared after his friend’s slouching form as he left the bar. As he turned back to the stool, he felt the shocked, accusing gazes of the other people in the bar and slumped forward. Everything he had said and done came rushing back, and he hid his face in his hands.

“My God, what have I done?”

xxx

Once realizing he had no place to go, Arthur attempted to remedy his ache with beer, even though the spool within his pocket was incessantly calling for his touch. All the adrenaline of the last day had left him and he slumped against the bar, too tired and aching and sore to do anything. His head pounded at the thought of all he would have to do to try and make amends, while his heart bled at the knowledge that it was probably too late.

He had lost everything.

“Closing time,” the bartender said, tapping his hand on the bar to rouse Arthur from his stupor, “you gotta get out of here.”

Arthur listlessly pushed off the bar, his arms and legs limp and heavy as he tried to pop the catch in his back. His feet dragged as he slowly walked out into the street. 

He turned into the alleyway besides the bar, and promptly threw up, his body convulsing as he fought the waves of sickness engulfing him. The exertion left him weak, and he slumped against the wall, desperately trying to breathe.

“Well, well.”

Arthur turned to the sound and his eyes narrowed. “You!” He spat.

“I wondered,” Nim drawled, smug pleasure almost dripping from her words, “when we’d meet again.” She looked at Arthur’s hand, which was shaking about the spool, and clucked disapprovingly. “I knew you’d not be able to resist.”

Arthur struggled to stand strong, feeling tiredness pull at his bones and his breathing became rattled. “What,” he coughed out, “do you want from me?”

“Oh, my dear Arthur,” she smiled, sliding closer in the darkness, “don’t you know everything has a price?”

He gritted his teeth, wincing at the cracking sound his jaw made. “Haven’t I paid enough already? I’ve lost my wife, my friends…”

“Clearly they weren’t worth all that much,” she replied, not stopping in her approach, “you gave them up easily enough.”

The aching pull brought Arthur down to his knees, and he glared up at the smug woman. “Damn you.”

Her nails, red like blood, brushed the front of her chest as she gasped mockingly. “Really, now, that just hurts. But I’m not here to make nice, Arthur,” she smiled, “I’m here to collect.”

“Get away!” He stumbled to his feet, staggering backwards beneath the weight. The spool dangled by the thread from his fingers.

She stepped forward. “Oh, poor you,” she drawled, “you really don’t understand that there’s nothing that can be done now, do you?”

Arthur felt the thread keenly, felt its pulse and gripped it with determination. “You’re wrong,” he coughed defiantly as he prepared to pull the string for the burst of energy, “I can-“

Twang.

The words stopped in his throat and he stared down at his two hands, one was clutching the black, charred end of string, and the other – 

An empty spool.

Arthur attempted to recover from the freezing shock, but his lungs wouldn’t pull in air, his muscles refusing to obey his commands. He fell to the ground.

“It was so very obvious,” Nim crooned as she knelt beside him, her eyes growing dark and pupilless, “I’m astonished really that a man like you missed it. Merlin was close to figuring it out, but it’ll be too late now.” She eyed her blood-red nails with a sly satisfaction. “That adrenaline rush you always felt when you pulled the thread, the ideas and feelings and abilities that were rushing past…that wasn’t just anyone’s life flashing before your eyes. It was yours.”

“And now,” she continued as her hair darkened to midnight and her face became pale as death, “you’ve run out.”

Arthur gritted his teeth, forced the words out. “You…tricked me.”

“Oh, don't give me all the credit," she crooned, "you made it all too easy."

Arthur gasped for air, his heart slowing when no more air came. 

He felt the muscles and sinews stiffen, his bones fall heavy and hollow, and the light began to blind him.

He felt her laughter, mockingly pleased, by his ear as the world came to a stop.

"Bright at the end, isn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the bleakest ending I've ever written. But it was for a horror contest for Halloween one year at the Heart of Camelot website, so I thought a happy ending might not suit it best. 
> 
> I'm quite proud of the ending, actually, but now I feel like writing some fluff to cheer myself up!
> 
> Have a good one, and please review!


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